Christmas with Johnny
by Angelina FILTH
Summary: Johnny + Christmas + Aloneness = Sadness! Aww. And death too. R+R please. HOOWA.


Johnny the Homicidal Maniac is (c) to Jhonen Vasquez.  
  
Christmas with Johnny  
Nobody was speaking to him today. Or at least this morning. Odd. Nobody. None of his "mentors" spoke today for some odd reason. It was as if at the stroke of twelve to mark this day there was an unsettled hush all through out the house.  
  
Or maybe it was just him. Whatever.  
  
He didn't know why either. He didn't really keep track of the date anymore, since he saw it as senseless since he didn't have anywhere to go at any specific time anyway. All he really knew was that when it was bright, it was day and when it was dark it was night.  
  
He even tried to ask them what was wrong, but the only reply was the depressing silence. If he only knew. It was Christmas Eve, and why nobody talked was even unknown to us. Maybe it just because what the celebration was originally about. Christ's birth and all. Perhaps inner shame shunned them to silence.  
  
And so he sat there in the morning hours, through the dark of it and through the light of it, staring blankly out at the snowcapped ground. Even for another hour, he stared at the blood-splattered floor. And then he glanced outside again. It was so bright when he looked out at the intense whiteness, it somewhat hurt his ever-dilated eyes.  
  
And then he heard it. He heard..something. What was it?  
  
He blinked for a moment, squinting his eyes and leaning forward. His head poked out the window, and in the distance he could see a few forms coming closer and closer. And the noise grew as well. What the hell was it?  
  
A cant of the head..and..he finally made it out. Singing. Fucking singing. And Christmas carols.  
  
"Fuckers..why are they singing? Singing is so pointless, just a waist of over-stretched vocal cords. Who would want to sing about something that happened so long ago? And plus it's not like anyone even cares anymore. If you don't count the hippies such as these and those old grandmothers and grandfathers who force their progeny to gather around a flame and listen to them ramble on about things they've heard time and time again."  
  
His squint grew into a glare.  
  
"And I'm sure God and Jesus Christ or whoever the hell is quite aware of how much these people absolutely adore them and the horrors they've set upon these poor fools."  
  
He retreated somewhere into the darkness of the house, muttering.  
  
And soon, the carolers stopped in front of his house. And sang. This was all working perfectly. He grinned, returning to the window, a..knife clutched in his fist. He waited for them to finish and continue on.  
  
"I'll show them. I'll show them what I believe."  
  
When they did, his eerie smile stretched across the entirety of his face, and the blade in his fist was held tighter, so tight, his knuckles began to turn white.  
  
And then he sprang like a leopard from a tree and darted out to them, whacking their heads one by one right off their shoulders with his blade. All of their bodies fell motionless in the street. He paused, watching the heads roll a bit, and then stop.  
  
Another look around, he noticed a few papers blowing about. Forgetting the knife, and dropping it in the process, he ran over and caught one.  
  
"Perhaps this'll keep me entertained for the day. If not, there's always more of..these kinds of people."  
  
He didn't even take time to read what was on the paper, but whatever. He slid back into the house and glanced around. Glanced over the red, brown, and honey coloured floor boards and the rays of the high sun showing through the cracks in the house, and splaying over it in a more graceful way than the blood did.  
  
He blinked, talking to himself. Explaining his reasons to nothing.  
  
"I hope they understood. Hm, a shame I couldn't have invited them in. They most likely wouldn't have trust me just by my looks alone, heh. And I certainly couldn't have just stood there in the street preaching and yelling at them, either. They would walk away, or it would've led to what just happened anyway. But they're dead right? Maybe their ghosts are lingering on and they see now. They see they die for those stupid little mistakes in life. That's why they shouldn't be out in the cold like that, singing about an unloving God and wasting their time while they should be living life to the fullest."  
  
He smiled, "Yes, they know. Now they do."  
  
--  
  
After all that was over, his attention was directed to what exactly was on that paper. As soon as he read the title, an expression of pure disgust played over his face.  
  
"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas? What the hell..I'd like to meet the idiot who wrote this piece of shit. Yet another waste of time, waste of thought, waste of," and he continued to ramble on to himself, but nonetheless, read the paper and eventually quieted down.  
  
As he read, he..blinked.  
  
"Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. My heart be light? If only, if only," he smirked, glancing up and out the window again. "For what reason?" And he looked back down again.  
  
"From now on our troubles will be out of sight. Is this all supposed to happen on Christmas? I get sorrowing memories. And I get is silence and stupid people singing foolish songs infront of my house. Which also reminds me of that whole gift-giving bit. Why give presents to other people? Wasn't this whole Christmas bit supposed to be about Jesus and not receiving a camera or a tie? Anyway."  
  
"Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the yule tide gay," and he just giggled a bit at that.  
  
"From now on our--..yeah, yeah. I know all that bull."  
  
"Faithful friends who are dear to us," he paused, and looked up and around the room and to the you know whos. "Gather near to us once more." And once again, he glanced out the bright snow. This song was starting to make him think. And remember his childhood, or atleast a clouded vision of it. He sighed, and continued on reading the paper.  
  
"Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow." That line sort of penetrated him, and his cheek bones rose a bit in a longing expression.  
  
"Hang a shining star upon the highest bough," he whispered. Ah, and the faint memory of when he was a little boy. The puny and dying Christmas tree his family had one year. He had to stand on a stool to reach the top and put the star there, even though. He was quite a small boy.  
  
He proceeded to read the rest, and reguardless the lines he had just read were repeated, this song was making him depressed, and long for what he had never or once upon a time had had.  
  
By the time he finished, he was crying and curled up in a ball on the floor, the paper held out infront of him with a thin and shaking hand.  
  
It angered him, and it saddened him. This song was incredibly stupid in his mind, yet it affected him so greatly. And just simple lyrics did this. He began to yell, because it made him more human than he wanted to be right now.  
  
"Infernal lyrics! Bringing forth past images in my head, I don't need to read this! I don't need to think about this! Like I said before, this is all STUPID! Stupid, stupid, stupid! No one should be reading and singing, much less writing things like this! It's all pointless, and it makes me..sad!"  
  
He broke down crying. And he was crying so hard his head began to hurt. Tossing the paper to the side (to be delt with later), he curled up further, and into a fetal postion, crying his eyes out. He figured he just let this wave of sudden emotion toss him about, and when it passed, it would be fine.  
  
Too bad he didn't know it was only the eve. There was the next day, and more carolers, and more silence, and more sad songs. At least for him. Poor Johnny. 


End file.
